I'd like to think I'm a formidable athlete.
That's why, during outdoor gatherings, I seek out someone to toss around the Frisbee, whip around a lacrosse ball or, if there's group consensus, play some volleyball.
So at our recent summer outing I'm playing Frisbee when all of a sudden what feels like a bee sting zaps the back of my calf. Then, seconds later, it feels more like a knife wound. But, displaying my typical machismo, I continue to play with a noticeable limp.
After two days, I decide to see a doctor. Did I pull a muscle? Tear a muscle? Why is my left calf twice the size of my right calf?
"Plantaris muscle," says the doc . "Typical tennis injury. But you got it playing Frisbee, eh? Do you have Frisbee insurance?"
I'm in no mood for jokes, and the doc gets to the point.
"Good news and bad news," he says. "Good news is you don't have a blood clot. Bad news is that once a plantaris tendon snaps, the one in your other leg could go at any time."
It kind of sucks getting old, I think to myself.
I feel 18, but my body likes to remind me that I'm 45.
So it's ice and heat, some pain killers at night, elevating the leg when I can, and try to take it easy. The doc says these kind of injuries take time.
If I were a monkey, I would be in worse shape. Turns out the plantaris tendon is the muscle that allows monkeys the flexibility to swing from tree to tree.
Lucky me.